Spectre
by Owlkin
Summary: The spirit of Yates Cardell was not leaving the mortal plane in such a hurried fashion. Not when there was unfinished business behind. (Tentative first chapter)
1. Chapter 1

A writing experiment, to take my mind off Moments of Levity, and to gauge interest for a different sort of story. This is a feeler intro chapter. There is a ghost movie called **_Always_**, with Richard Dreyfuss that I am drawing some inspiration from.

As always, all things belong to Kristen Britain. May her muse bless her and increase her writing speed.

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He noted that it was pleasantly warm in the black haze that he seemed to float in. He could not remember why he had come to be here or really any other pertinent detail in his recent memory.

He supposed it was an idle dream, brought on by his usual nightly proclivities that followed a duty shift. The captain had warned him that his tendency to frequent the city taverns was not looked upon as a desirable habit for a King's messenger. Inwardly he scoffed; for young men had all sorts of unfavorable vices that Captain Mapstone found fault with. Having a drink with a friend, flirting with a pretty woman, and provoking Light Horse cavalrymen were all fairly normal pursuits for a male Green Rider. Really, there was no need to single him out at every occasion that he was caught.

A hushed whimpering caught his attention, his hearing catching the sound as it floated past. Part of his subconscious urged him to ignore it, but he persisted in listening for the soft cries. It seemed useless to try and use his sight to pinpoint its location but with his concentrated efforts, he began to make sense of his surroundings.

And it was, for lack of a better word, rather ghastly.

He was in a _box_. A stone, rectangular box that seemed to resemble a coffin. And he was not alone.

Although seemingly lacking a corporeal form, his consciousness shared the space with a battered and rather distraught Karigan G'ladheon.


	2. Chapter 2

**I keep the chapters small so I don't have the pressure to do the big ones from my other stories. :) This is all from the perspective of Yates.**

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The memories trickled in one by one, highlighting their journey to that forsaken forest and the painful recollection of being held hostage in his own mind. Lynx's face hovering over his with a measure of sorrow and resignation, the shards of mirror glass embedded in his body . . .

It did not seem possible that he was still among the living, but nor had he passed on to the afterlife. If rascals like him ever experienced a happy one.

Yates completely ignored the extraordinary circumstances he found himself in and focused his awareness on the almost panicked expression of his friend. It was an odd sensation, almost as if he was part of the stone itself but privy to the sensations of a living human.

For that matter, was Karigan even alive? The blood streaming from her numerous wounds would suggest so, but _obviously_, their surroundings indicated he had missed a few things since losing consciousness. What kind of magic sorts people into small dark places? Clearly, the sadistic kind.

Oh Gods no, were those tears?

Karigan's face dirty face was streaked by the rivulets running down her cheeks, but her whimpering had tapered off. Whatever her state of mind was now, she was focusing her sightless gaze straight up as her hands haltingly searched the dimensions of the stone box. The thigh wound prevented ease of movement but after ascertaining that there were no suitable crevices or cracks, her hands fell down listlessly to her sides.

Yates inwardly cringed as he heard her attempts to stifle the sobs that welled in her throat. His experience with upset females tended to run more towards the angry ones, and not the weepy sort. He attempted to move what would be the normal appendages of a human body, but only succeeded in shifting his line of sight to the side of the box.

He snorted in disbelief and mild amusement, recalling the philosophic musings of an old schoolmaster. Was he part of the box or, was the box part of him?

Banishing the idle thoughts away, he regarded Karigan with a mixture of consternation and frustration.

This was not the fearless girl he knew.

They had battled carnivorous avians, murderous tree roots, and swarms of ground mites. She had dragged his sorry posterior through the forest and listened to his complaining. His blindness seemed a rather petty thing now in comparison to the situation she, no _they_, had found themselves in.

If Karigan G'ladheon was shedding tears, then the world as he knew it had ended, he concluded grimly. But, even if he was just a fixture on the wall of her new dwelling space, he would remain with her. With sheer willpower if necessary.

The sudden grinding of stone on stone alerted them both to the slivers of light that began to filter from the corners. With some measure of trepidation, he watched as a lid was lifted from the stone box, revealing a trio of pasty looking fellows garbed in light colored clothing.

And none of them looked pleased to see Karigan.


End file.
